


Stark By Heart, Greyjoy By Blood

by Season_8_But_Better



Series: A Redo of Season 8 [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ALSO not beta read, Angst, Anxiety, Bran is the three eyed raven, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Game of Thrones Spoilers, I can only write straight love and I'm so gay, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ramsay is only mentioned dont worry, Sansa is good support, Season 6 Spoilers, Season 7 Spoilers, Season 8 Spoilers, Season 8 rewritten, Theon has PTSD, descriptions of torture, descriptions of violence, terrible descriptions of fighting, we still die like men, what does it mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 06:27:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20335588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Season_8_But_Better/pseuds/Season_8_But_Better
Summary: Theon Greyjoy is split between two houses, a man once split in personality, not a good man if you ask him. Winter has come. Has he found something good in the cold?"“You’re a good man, Theon.” Theon’s chest tightened and he looked back at Bran. He was smiling. In that moment he looked less like the Three Eyes Raven and more like the little curios kid that liked climbing places he didn’t belong."





	Stark By Heart, Greyjoy By Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Welp this ain't that great. But I knew I wanted to rewrite Theon's death as he was probably my fave and his death was just like 'woops let's move on now rip'. I've also always lowkey shipped Sansa and Theon since they been through so much I can only imagine what great supports they could be for each other. Theon has seen Sansa at her worst, so she could be vulnerable around him.  
Anygays this ain't about me trying to persuade you that they're great - this is about me introducing my garbage. And I warn thee, this is garbage.  
I haven't changed much other than put in a bit more dialouge, a lil' flashback and a bit more fighting between Theon and the Night King, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. <3

His mouth tasted like saltwater and blood and it reminded him of home. A home. One of his homes. He had been cast out of both, betrayed both and found peace at both. Both homes still felt unsafe, for drastically different reasons, but at least he could die trying to protect the home he had found in the last of the Starks. The forgiveness he had found in Jon’s embrace. The warmth he had found in Sansa’s.

_“I fed him to his dogs,” Sansa said, eyes to the ceiling and she relived his death for the thousandth time. “_

_He screamed and I watched. He was so afraid. He is dead, Theon.” _

_She turned her head to look at her lover. _

_“You don’t…” _

_Her satisfied smile faded as she saw how pale he was. Theon was staring at the ceiling. Every part of his body shaking. Sansa repeated his name, no, not his name. A stranger’s name. The name of the man he was portraying. Sansa moved to touch Theon’s arm, but Reek recoiled, fear painfully evident in his expression. His master was more fearful dead. A ghost that could now haunt every part of his life, not only his nightmares. _

_“_ _T__heon, breathe.” _

_Sansa’s voice sounded far away. She needed to stop saying that name. If he heard her, he would hurt her more than he already had. The memory of her screaming and crying and in pain flashed p in his brain like lightning and with a pained whimper, Reek fled to the edge of the bed, planting his feet against the cold floor and burying his head in his hands. He could feel the weight on the bed shifting behind him and every muscle in his body tensed. Until he could feel her arms wrap around him and her warm body press against his back. _

_“I’m sorry, Theon,” Sansa said quietly, and Reek violently shook his head. _ _“_ _I thought revenge would please you. I keep forgetting how gentle you are.” _

_She kissed his neck and Reek sobbed. He wasn’t gentle, he was broken. He was scared and broken and yet her warm perfect lips still rested against his skin, her arms still held him together. _

_“_ _You are Theon Greyjoy and I love you.” Theon whimpered again, but not from pain or fair. _

_“_ _You do?” he asked, voice still thick and quivering. _

_“As long as I am Sansa Stark and as long as you are Theon Greyjoy, my heart will belong to you and yours to me.” _

_Her voice and words brought warmth and life to Theon’s chest and it was the best revenge he could have ever hoped for. That night he promised himself to never again forget who he was. Even if he forgot his name, his worth his heritage, he would know. In the end he would always be hers._

“Theon!”

Theon was ripped from his daydreams, and snapped his head towards the voice, sweaty and muddied curls sticking to his forehead and temple.

“Behi-!”

The soldier coughed up blood as the spear that had just entered through his neck, exited out his throat. Theon picked up on his warning, ducking just in time to narrowly avoid the arrow that whisked above his head before burying itself in a tree trunk opposite him. He spun around on his heel, returning the gesture by jamming his sword through the ribs of the undead.

In the end it was only him left. All the torches were dead, so were all the soldiers. Yet the dead didn’t attack. Just stood there, staring, with their blue eyes and restless growls. Bran was still sitting motionless behind him. Eyes turned white and head tilted to the heavens. Theon knew they were coming as soon as the biting cold wind made its way through the clearing. A cold shiver crawled its way up Theon’s spine and he tightened his grip on his sword. The Night King stepped out of the shadows as Bran’s voice cut through the still night air.

“Are you prepared to die, Theon?”

Theon shifted a foot behind the other. Sansa was safe in the crypts. Surrounded by dead that wouldn’t rise and people that could protect her even after he was gone.

“No,” he said truthfully. “But I know tonight I have to. And I’m okay with that.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat as the white walkers stepped out behind the Night King.

“You’re a good man, Theon.”

Theon’s chest tightened and he looked back at Bran. He was smiling. In that moment he looked less like the Three Eyes Raven and more like the little curios kid that liked climbing places he didn’t belong. Theon’s heart ached. He hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye to Sansa, but perhaps that was for the best. He hoped she would be the one to light his pyre when this was all over. A gush of cold wind warned him, and he turned just in time to stop the sword being swung at him. Piercing blue eyes stared directly into his own, but Theon wasn’t afraid. He feared the living far more than the undead. The Night King swung again, and Theon had to take a step back to parry, the back of his leg bumping into Bran’s wheelchair. The sound of sword meeting sword echoed throughout the clearing, the Night Kinds hits never faltering or missing. Theon could no nothing but parry. He couldn’t back away, couldn’t get a chance to attack and he begged all Gods he had ever prayed to, to keep Sansa safe, as the Night Kings blade cut clean through both his armor and his chest. His lungs filled with blood in an instant and he sputtered and coughed, drops splattering onto the Night Kings chest plate. He pulled the sword out his chest, and Theon could do nothing but groan as his legs gave out under him.

As black dots filled his vision, he reached for the shadow he saw moving slowly towards them. Sansa? He hoped it wasn't her. He couldn't live without her, and if she was here she would die. Though, he thought, she would have to be the one to live without him now. His outreached hand fell limp as his body began shutting down. What is dead may never die, Theon thought, as he fought to keep conscious. His vision had completely failed him now. He could see nothing but dim lights dancing in the darkness. He could faintly hear sounds of commotion, but even listening was straining as energy left his body. Oozed out of the wound in his chest. As Theon flickered between unconcious and concious, a lightbulb just on the edge of exploding, he sent a last dying thought to Sansa. Don't forget me. What is dead may never die.

**Author's Note:**

> As always kudos, criticism and comments are appreciated and you can always send me prompts at my twitter @S8_But_Better.  
(And yes the shadow in the end is meant to be Arya Stark ;))


End file.
